


A nice twist

by BlueBoxDetective



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adventure, Between Episodes, Gen, With a happy twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 17:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17370176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBoxDetective/pseuds/BlueBoxDetective
Summary: Yaz calls the Doctor because she heard screaming. Turns out the situation isn't what they expected it to be. Still, somebody needs help and they are happy to provide.





	A nice twist

**Author's Note:**

> Doctor Who is a trademark of the BBC, all rights reserved. My story is only shared for the enjoyment of others and is not intended to get myself any advantages or to create the feeling that the characters are my own.

I am a policewoman in training. Like, the real deal. In the future I will get called to people screaming and I will be the one who has to figure out what to do. But today, when I heard the screams coming from my neighbours, I didn't have a look what was going on. I didn't even call the police. No, the first thing that came to my mind was to call the Doctor. I still can't explain why I did it. Maybe it's fine because she kinda lives in a police box, so I nearly informed the right person. And, to be fair to the Doctor, she is probably more capable than all police officers from Sheffield together. But that's probably something I shouldn't say about the organisation I'll work in one day. If my plans don't change. I mean, space travel actually puts things into a different perspective. Life on earth, with a regular job (even if it is my dream job), a flat and a partner just seems so... normal now. Ordinary. Boring.  
The doorbell rings. I nearly trip over the sofa as I rush to throw open the front door. The Doctor stands in front of it, screwdriver in her hand and slightly panting from running up the stairs. Before I'm able to say anything she is already talking, like on many occasions it sounds as if her brain is working to fast for her mouth to keep up – the words are rushed and pressed together so that she can fit as many as possible into one second of speaking: “Heard the scream myself right now. Sounds like a woman, probably in her thirtieth from the sound of her voice. It's more of a scared-scream than a pain-scream, which is a good sign I think. Still think checking it out wouldn't hurt, you coming?” She doesn't even wait for me to react and leads the way to my neighbours next door. Quickly I grab my keys and follow her. Without hesitation she points her screwdriver at the door and with a barely audible “click” it opens for us. Once the Doctor pushes it open, the screams become louder: “No, no, no!” is coming from the other side of the corridor. Quietly the Doctor rushes into the flat and I follow her, suddenly feeling very unprepared for the situation. Whenever we train for situations like this with the police – not that we are following any protocols right now, I should be ashamed – we always carry some kind of weapon to defend ourselves. And I didn't even bring my baseball bat with me that I keep inside my flat – for protection. I don't actually like playing it.   
The apparently upset woman yells: “Get it away from me!” The Doctor walks over to the door that was slightly ajar and peers through the opening. Turning back to me she whispers: “I see a guy with a broom. I'll go in!” And before I am able to protest she throws open the door, holding her screwdriver in front of her. I have seen her do this in other situations and wonder if she feels safer that way – because there is certainly no use for it right now. I hurry to follow her and have a quick look around the room. We're standing in my neighbours kitchen. The man stands in front of the sink, a broom in his hand in a defending posture. The woman had climbed onto a chair, and both of them are staring at the Doctor and me in shock.  
As always, the Doctor is the first to find her voice as she waves her psychic paper in front of the peoples faces. “Hi!” she exclaims, “How can we help you?”  
“Pest control?” The woman yells, “Thank god you're here. There's a mouse under our sink!” Here voice is high pitched, probably from her panic. After my initial confusion I can't help but smile slightly. A mouse. I had called the Doctor, the rescuer of whole galaxies, the over 2000 year old time lady, because my neighbour is afraid of mice.  
“Right,” the Doctor responds, throwing me a quick look I'm not able to interpret. She keels down in front of the sink and begins talking in a sweet voice as if she has a baby in front of her: “Hey little one, are you lost? I can get you out, what do you think? I'm here to help you.” My neighbours raise their eyebrows at the scene and suddenly they notice me: “Yasmin?” asks the woman, “Aren't you with the police? Since when do you work with pest control?” I stammer something about just following from next door, but the attention is quickly back on the Doctor when a tiny black nose pokes out from under the sink. “There you go,” praises the Doctor, laying her hand on the ground with the inside up, “Come on, I'll get you to safety. Promised.”  
To everyone's – including mine – surprise, the mouse runs straight onto the blondes hand. The Doctor gets to her feet, giving my neighbours a big smile. “Problem solved, wish you a nice afternoon!” And without wasting a second she walked right out the door. I wave at my neighbours who look after the Doctor in confusion and follow the time lady. She is still talking to the small animal in her hand as she takes the stairs to the ground floor. I call after her: “Sorry, Doctor!”  
She stops and turns around to me. She smiles my favourite smile, the one that is so big it forms her entire face and puts those little wrinkles in the corner of her eyes: “Why, Yaz? You were absolutely right, this poor little thing was in desperate need of rescue. That big broom was terrifying her.”  
“Her?” Is the only thing I'm able to comment on, even though there are a lot of questions popping up in my head simultaneously.  
“Yeah, I speak mouse,” the Doctor informs me as if it is self-explanatory. “She calls herself Susan. I will get her to a nice safe park where she can life for the rest of her life. Do you want to come with us?”  
I giggle: “To rescue the little mouse? Of course I want to come.”  
And with that, we are of to another adventure: Bringing a mouse in need back home (because you can't just take care of humans, where would be the equality in that?).


End file.
